


Sinners and Saints

by jamelia116, Rocky_T, Voyager_Virtual Season_7-5_Staff_Writers (jamelia116)



Series: Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 [22]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crew as Family, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 13:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20174758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/jamelia116, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/Voyager_Virtual%20Season_7-5_Staff_Writers
Summary: Meanwhile, back in the Alpha Quadrant...This story begins during the time frame thatVoyagerhad left New Hope and was on the way to the Vordai station.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Jamelia for her help in working out the stardates, and to the entire writing staff of VVS7.5 for creating such vivid family portraits for the Letters/Links episodes as well as the Prixin logs.

Stardate 55276.8 (April 12, 2379) 

The sky was dull and overcast, but except for an occasional drizzle, the rain had held off. That state of affairs wouldn't last much longer; the wind was picking up. Admiral Owen Paris shivered as he looked out across the bay and saw the frothy waves whipping along its slate-gray surface. Looming overhead, the restored Golden Gate Bridge was a ghostly presence, rapidly disappearing in the encroaching fog.

He could have simply ordered a site-to-site transport between his office at the Pathfinder project and the building where the meeting was being held, but he'd preferred to walk. Not so much for the exercise, but for the chance to clear his head. He pulled up his collar against the wind--somewhat awkwardly, as one hand was still clutching his brief case. The data it contained was important--and had the potential for far-reaching consequences.

Paris picked up his pace a bit, resolutely pushing aside any disturbing thoughts. There was no sense in borrowing trouble; he'd know soon enough how the others would react to his news. He checked his chrono. Damn. He was going to be late. Maybe he should have opted for the transporter after all. He redoubled his efforts, not breathing easier until the majestic dome of Cochrane Hall came into view.

The complex of buildings which made up Starfleet Headquarters was located on the site of the old Presidio, a fort first built in 1776. Over the centuries, it had served as a military post under the flags of Spain, Mexico, and the United States. Under the latter, the Presidio had played a logistical role in every major American military conflict up to and including WWIII, though many of its buildings had not survived the onslaught of that brutal global conflict. Paris smiled grimly to himself. During the Breen attack a few years back, those few historic edifices that had survived Earth's final war had actually fared better than many of the more recently built structures.

Still holding firmly to his briefcase, Paris made his way to a small, unobtrusive building, which stood further back from the imposing towers that were at the heart of HQ. Ignoring the front entrance, he went around the side to a small door. He tapped in a code and waited.

The door slid open and Paris stepped into a seemingly deserted foyer. He moved to the far wall, placed his palm in a shallow depression and submitted to a DNA scan. Once his identity was established and accepted, he proceeded to the turbolift and stated his destination.

As the 'lift rushed downward, Paris checked his chrono once more. Despite himself, his thoughts strayed again to the data he carried, the latest reports from _Voyager_ which had arrived just that morning.

From the sound of voices coming from the room, he could tell the meeting was already in progress. _Of course_, he thought to himself, _why should they have waited?_ There was a time when anything related to _Voyager_ would have been the primary item on the agenda; now there were other things which took precedence. With regular monthly communication, news from Starfleet's furthest-flung vessel was no longer a novelty. He supposed he should be grateful that the Pathfinder project was still important enough to ensure that he was included in these meetings with the most powerful and influential voices among the Admiralty. If the truth were told, more 'real' Starfleet policy was formulated in this small unassuming room than anything that came out of the deliberations of the General Staff.

Jack Hayes, Starfleet's Commander in Chief, looked up and nodded briefly as Paris entered, but did not interrupt the speaker, a grizzled man who sat to his right. Paris slid unobtrusively into a seat at the foot of the oval conference table and glanced around the room, noting who else was present. 

Bart Cobum, who was currently speaking, was one of the most senior members of the Admiralty, although most of his career had been spent behind a desk. To his right was William Ross, who looked depressed as usual. Paris could not recall ever having seen the younger man smile. Alynna Necheyev occupied the next seat over, her mouth pursed in disapproval. Paris didn’t know if her displeasure was directed at him, or at what Cobum was saying. Norman Blanc occupied the last seat on that side of the table, his face faintly scowling in repose. A long white scar wound its way across his left temple and down the side of his face. Paris had never understood why Blanc hadn't chosen to have it removed, or what possible significance it held. Rachel Teller, a wizened, white haired woman, sat on Hayes' left. Just past her 108th birthday, she was highly resistant to any suggestions that perhaps it was time for her to retire, claiming, with perfect truth, that she was still as sharp as she had ever been. The seat next to her was empty. Paris remembered that T'Lira had been recalled to Vulcan to deal with an illness in the family, which left Gelb, a Nereid, as the sole non-Human present. _How did we get to be so Terracentric, so set in our ways?_ Paris asked himself and leaned back in his chair with an inaudible sigh. 

The mood in the room was relaxed, as it well should be. For the first time in a long while, no major foes loomed on the horizon, and the economic downturn, which had swept many of the Federation worlds in the aftermath of the war, was showing clear signs of reversal.

Unconsciously echoing Paris' thoughts, Teller responded to a question from Hayes. "The rebuilding efforts, both in the Federation and on its allied worlds, continue to progress on schedule. This in turn has led to a significant lowering of unemployment, now down to an average of 4.7 percent on most Federation worlds. As a result, overall productivity increased by 1.6 percent in the last quarter," she said, without glancing at the PADD in front of her. 

"All of which contributes to the relative quiet in the sector," Hayes noted. "Anything else, Bart?"

Cobum nodded. "The situation with the Breen is still not quite optimal, but it's under control. Nothing to worry about on that front."

Blanc smiled tightly, causing the area around his scar to pucker. " 'Never turn your back on a Breen,' " he said, quoting a well-known Romulan adage.

Cobum frowned. "They have regularly been permitting our weapons inspectors access to their facilities, and have been abiding by the disarmament clauses hammered out at the end of the war. For all intents and purposes, they're serious about wanting normalization of relations with the Federation." He paused. "You know very well that without the 'encouragement' of the Dominion, they would never have opened hostilities in the first place."

"Yet they were responsible for some of the most devastating attacks during the war," Blanc shot back. "If it weren't for their weapons--"

"That subject has been discussed thoroughly and is now closed," Hayes cut in firmly. "Now is not the time to rehash old battles." He turned back to Cobum. "Which reminds me, anything of note happening in the Gamma Quadrant?"

Cobum shook his head. "Our colonies there are reporting all quiet, and no problems with the Dominion or their allies."

"Good." Hayes tapped his stylus idly on the tabletop. "Next, Cardassia?"

"Peaceful elections were held three weeks ago under the auspices of Federation observers," Ross said, frowning slightly over his notes. "The premier-elect, Duloc, ran on a platform committed to expediting Cardassia's recovery. Due to the concentration of effort and resources, the homeworld has largely been restored to what it was before the war, but the outlying colonies are still in need of help. Duloc has already announced his intention of requesting additional financial and material aid, and the signs are that the Federation Council will most likely agree." He put his PADD down. "We currently have the best relationship with the Cardassians that we've had in over two decades, even counting the first few months after the treaty was signed back in 2370." He cleared his throat, but wisely chose not to touch on the events that happened _after_ the treaty had gone into effect. "Both the past and present governments have goals similar to our own for the region and are not displaying any expansionist tendencies." 

"Excellent." Hayes turned to Necheyev. "And the current state of relations with the Romulan Star Empire?"

Necheyev had never been one to mince words; she did not disappoint now. "It can best be described as a 'cold peace,' " she said flatly. "So much for the hope that our military alliance would be the starting point for something more. The Federation continues to be eager for scientific and cultural exchanges, but the Romulans appear to be less 'enthusiastic.' " 

"B-b-but there have been a number of conferences recently which were attended b-b-by Romulans," Gelb said in surprise, his gill slits flapping rapidly. His voice sounded gurgly, as if he was speaking under water; a native of a world whose surface was 97 percent water, he was equally at home in an aqueous or gaseous environment. The tiny golden scales that covered his epidermis twinkled in the light, as he turned to Necheyev questioningly.

"True, but the consensus has been that at these events the Romulans tend to listen a great deal and yet say very little in return," said Necheyev. "Doubtless hoping to learn all they can about our scientific breakthroughs, while keeping us as much in the dark as possible regarding their own."

Gelb shook his head sadly. "Not quite the relationship we had in mind."

"Even a cold peace is better than a hot war," observed Teller, shifting slightly in her seat. "Especially considering the recent history of our interactions with the Romulans--and the roots of our recent 'alliance.' " She glanced as if by happenstance at Ross, who looked away uncomfortably. Necheyev caught the by-play and frowned. 

Paris sat quietly as they ran through the rest of the agenda, not really paying much attention. At heart, he was a scientist, not a policy maker. He didn't perk up until Gelb mentioned that Starfleet's latest attempts at developing transwarp, under the guidance of Leah Brahms at the Theoretical Propulsion Lab, had run into yet another difficulty.

"Still having problems?" said Blanc, grimacing. "We've never had any luck with transwarp, dating all the way back to the early experiments on the _Excelsior_ nearly a century ago. Perhaps it's time to simply accept that we will be unable to produce a working prototype."

"But look at _Voyager_'s experience," reminded Teller. "They managed to develop a transwarp drive--" 

"Using Borg technology!" Blanc said, angrily. Paris suddenly was reminded that Blanc's only son had died at Wolf 359. 

There was a moment of tense silence, broken when Gelb said, "Yes, _Voyager_ developed transwarp, b-b-but look where it g-g-got them. They were lucky to survive."

Paris stirred, but did not say anything.

"What about transferring La Forge to the TPL?" suggested Ross. "He's one of the best engineers in Starfleet. And I understand he has worked with Brahms in the past."

"Geordi La Forge of the _Enterprise_?" sniffed Necheyev immediately. "Good luck getting any of Picard's people to transfer off that ship voluntarily." Her tone left no doubt what she thought were the chances of that happening.

Blanc muttered, "Another sign of one of the biggest problems plaguing Starfleet these days, the damn 'cult of the captaincy', where personal loyalties seem to count for more than duty oaths." 

Hayes sighed. "That's neither here nor there." He made a note with his stylus. "I'll see what I can do about La Forge. And I'm not quite ready to write off _Voyager_'s experience with transwarp as a complete failure. It may very well be that there is some valuable information to be gleaned from there. After all, they _were_ able to travel about 10,000 light years before the drive went critical." 

Hayes turned to Paris. "And last but not least, we have the monthly update on _Voyager_. The latest message via the data stream was received this morning, I believe?" Paris nodded, but before he could say anything further, Hayes continued. "When we last heard from them, _Voyager_ was still on the planet they called New Hope, but expected to leave shortly. They planned to make a stop at one of the Vordai space stations to finish off repairs, primarily those dealing with the exterior hull and deflector dish, and then resume their journey.

"Even though we're of course disappointed that their transwarp experiment failed--" here he nodded at Gelb, "--and _Voyager_'s return is not as imminent as once expected, I know you all share in my relief they're still alive and will be able to continue on their way." Hayes took a sip of water, and said in a confiding tone, "I for one was sure they were going to be stranded on that godforsaken planet for _years_, till our deep space vessels could reach them." Murmurs of agreement followed his statement.

Paris glanced around the room. Hayes was correct--there was palpable relief, but it wasn't exclusively due to _Voyager_'s survival. No, he realized with a sinking heart, it was that _Voyager_ wouldn't be returning just yet. He'd always known that the ship’s return would open a can of worms--on several levels--that no one really wanted to deal with. But now, the other admirals were convinced that the ship--with its Maquis crewmembers and a captain who'd gotten used to operating in the absence of any authority other than her own--was still far enough away not to be a concern.

Time to drop the bombshell. "Actually, Admiral Hayes, your information is not entirely correct," Paris said calmly.

"Oh?" said Hayes.

At almost the same time, Gelb said eagerly, "Have they figured out what went wrong with the drive?" 

"No, that part is true--the transwarp was a failure," said Paris. He paused. "But _Voyager_ should still be home within the year."

"But they're 15,000 light years away! At maximum warp, that would still put them at least a decade from Federation space," said Ross blankly.

"If they were limited to conventional warp drive, yes," said Paris. "Fortunately, that is not the case. Over the past six months on New Hope, a team of their engineers developed a workable slipstream, using a new alien technology they first came into contact with on--" 

"Just how many new alien technologies does _Voyager_ have?" said Blanc in exasperation. 

"You may as well ask how many lives a Circassian cat has," retorted Necheyev a little sourly.

Hayes quickly recovered his composure. "Regardless, _Voyager_ is on her way home," he said firmly. "And I'm sure you'll all agree that this is good news."

Paris glanced at him sharply. Was it his imagination, or did the Commander in Chief not look too happy?

"But the question is," said Cobum thoughtfully, "What are we going to do about it?"


	2. Act 1

"It's so nice that you could stop by," Anne Carey said over an afternoon tea tray at her home in County Cork, Ireland. She lifted the teapot and poured for her guest.

"Well, I was practically in the neighborhood anyway--not like I beamed over from Seattle," Kaylyn Richardson answered, accepting a cup with a smile. She bore little resemblance to her more famous sister, Ensign Marla Gilmore, formerly of the _U.S.S. Equinox_, now stationed aboard _Voyager_. She held up a hand. "No milk, please, just sugar."

Anne passed her the sugar bowl. "How long will you be staying in London?"

"The conference runs until the end of the week. Five days total, though honestly, it could just as easily been consolidated into three. They've really spread out the sessions--we have a lot of free time built in."

"Like as not people want to do some touring while they're at it, I suppose." Anne broke off as the boys came into the room. 

"Mum, can we have some cake?" JJ asked, eyeing the pastries and scones.

"Yes, you may," Anne said. "Just one piece each, though." She turned back to her guest. "Kaylyn, these are my boys. JJ is the redheaded lad currently showing an abysmal lack of manners--" she gave a mock-frown at her oldest son who had taken a mouthful large enough to render himself speechless, "and that's Patrick--" she nodded at the smallest boy who grinned impishly in return. She draped her arm around the shoulders of the third boy, who was much swarthier than the others. "And this is Luis Ayala, Michael's son, who's staying with us." Luis smiled shyly and then ducked his head. "Boys, this is Mrs. Richardson."

"Please, no need to be so formal. Just 'Kaylyn' is fine." 

"Nice to meet you," JJ said, clearly the spokesman. "Come on, let's go," he ordered the others, and they darted out quickly, their hands and mouths full.

Anne shook her head. "These boys..."

Kaylyn laughed. "I'm sure they keep you busy."

"Oh, that they do. Still, I wouldn't have it any other way," Anne said with a smile that quickly faded. It hadn't been easy being a single parent all these years. When _Voyager_ disappeared, JJ had been seven years old, Patrick only three. Seven long years had since passed, the majority of the children's lives, and it would still be a long time until they'd see their father again, until the family would be complete once more. There had been times that only the necessity of being there for her children had given her the strength to keep going. She mentally shook herself and focused her attention on her guest once more. "I'm really glad you could visit, Kaylyn."

"Likewise." Kaylyn looked around the peaceful sitting room and smiled at her hostess, very much at ease. Although they'd only met in person once before, at the Voyager Family Association picnic almost a year earlier, they'd since kept up a lively correspondence on an almost daily basis and had developed a close friendship. 

"I confess," said Anne, playing with the tea cozy, "I have an ulterior motive in bringing you over here this afternoon." At Kaylyn's questioning look, she added, "I need your help."

"Sounds serious," Kaylyn said, putting her cup down on the saucer. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong," Anne said quickly. "The news from _Voyager_ this month was good, and in fact, Joe's letter was especially--" she stopped for a moment. "Did Marla mention anything 'unusual' in her last letter?"

Kaylyn shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. She said that everyone was looking forward to getting back in space once more, also mentioned something about a special gift that Lieutenant Kim had gotten her..." her voice trailed off. She took a sip of her tea. "I have to say that every month when I see the _Voyager_ security code attached to an incoming transmission, my heart is always in my mouth, wondering if something has happened to Marla." She forced a smile. "Maybe I'm just paranoid, but after having received that official 'we are very sorry to inform you of the loss' _once_ already, I guess I'm just a little spooked."

"I don't think you're paranoid at all," Anne said, patting her hand. "I feel the same way. I worry about Joe a lot--in fact, a few months ago I had this recurring nightmare that he'd been taken hostage and killed on an away mission." She gave a shaky laugh. "I don't think I relaxed until I heard from him in the next datastream."

Kaylyn gave her a sympathetic smile. "And was he all right?"

"Yes, he was fine. Well, they had a small explosion in engineering, something to do with the Prixin preparations, I believe. But aside from a broken wrist, he was all right."

"Thank goodness for that," Kaylyn said. "Marla suffered _another_ concussion a few months back as well." She sighed. "Never a dull moment."

"Not when you've got loved ones in Starfleet," Anne agreed.

"Back to your ulterior motive," Kaylyn said, buttering herself another scone. "What's up?"

"I was thinking, every month we, namely the families, get a letter from our people on _Voyager_. We hear all the personal news, but not much about the ship as a whole." She took a sip of her own rapidly cooling tea. "Joe does mention every now and then what's happening with some of the other people in his department, or general news of major importance, but that's about it."

"Marla's pretty much the same," Kaylyn said. "I didn't even know that the chief engineer had had a baby until I saw it on the newsvids."

"Yes, they run a monthly '_Voyager_ update' feature," Anne said. "And occasionally Admiral Paris, or more often his wife Alicia, sends along a little more general information."

"Not to everyone," Kaylyn said. "I don't think my family has ever heard directly from the Parises."

"He only contacted me once, actually. Well, the Admiral is very busy with the overall Pathfinder project," Anne said, smoothing out her napkin. "It's really not fair or realistic to expect him to find time to communicate personally with each and every family." She paused. "Which is why I think we need to put something together on our own."

"Like a family newsletter?" Kaylyn suggested.

"Exactly," Anne said, leaning forward. "Even before the picnic last year, there was an informal network between various families to share news and information. As soon as someone heard anything, they'd call some of the others, and they'd pass it on and so on." She fell silent for a moment, remembering how it had begun. At the beginning, when _Voyager_ was first reported missing, there was no sense of solidarity among the families. Even after the memorial service two years later, there had been little or no contact between any of the newly bereaved. But a few years after that, when word first came that _Voyager_ had survived, Starfleet had held a special briefing for the families. Afterward, some, like Anne, had made a point of meeting and talking with the others. That was when she first became acquainted with Gretchen Janeway, Phoebe Robbins, Alicia Paris, and Sam Wildman's husband Greskendrtregk, to name a few. It had been a major turning point for them all. Up to then, they'd all been grieving by themselves, bearing the burden of their loss alone. Anne had attended some Starfleet support groups, but nothing on a regular basis. Finding others in the exact same situation as she was herself was very comforting, and she was eager to pursue the connection. 

Unlike some of the other Starfleet relatives, she had made a point of reaching out to some of the Maquis families as well. After all, they were equally affected, and after hearing about the fusion of the two crews into one unified whole, Anne considered it foolish to maintain any degree of separation. Since the start of the Pathfinder project, she had gone out of her way to meet and become acquainted with family members of the former _Equinox_ crew as well. 

Kaylyn reached out and squeezed her hand. "I never really told you how much I appreciated your including the 'E5' in your network, Anne. Everybody else has held us at arms length--it wasn't until much later that Starfleet even told us the full story about what happened with Captain Ransom, and how and why Marla and the others were the only survivors."

Anne looked away, embarrassed. "I'm really sorry about that, Kaylyn. If it were up to me--"

"Yes, I know. But unfortunately, it wasn't. And like it or not, your attitude is still a rarity." Kaylyn took a deep breath. "I don't know what's going to happen when _Voyager_ gets back. My husband is a lawyer, and he's been quietly sounding out a few people about Marla's situation--it doesn't look good. Still, I know I'd rather have her back safe and sound, even if she does get drummed out of the service." She dabbed at her eyes. "But it's foolish to worry about that now, as it's going to be a long time before _Voyager_ gets back. A lot can happen in a decade or so."

"True," said Anne, "But it's not going to take that long--that's what I wanted to tell you. Joe and some of the others have been working on a slipstream drive, all those months they were stuck on that planet, and they think they've succeeded. Joe says not to get our hopes up too much, but if all goes well--and he's sure it will--they may very well be home within the year!"

"That would be wonderful!" Kaylyn said. "Oh, Anne..." She stopped suddenly. "Why wasn't this mentioned on the newsvids? Or in an official announcement from Starfleet?"

"I don't know," Anne said slowly. "Unless they don't want to get our hopes up. Remember what happened with transwarp, after all."

"They'll have to break the news eventually," Kaylyn pointed out, "especially as _Voyager_ gets closer."

"You won't get any argument from me," Anne shrugged. "Regardless, that's the sort of thing I thought the newsletter would be perfect for. To make sure _everyone_ is kept apprised of all new developments, and not have to depend on the official PR people."

Kaylyn considered. "It's a great idea, Anne, but were you considering handling this yourself?"

"Of course," Anne said in surprise. "Why wouldn't I? With some other volunteers, that is."

"Don't you have enough on your plate already? I mean, I know you've been doing some work with the Federation Relief Agency, and you've got your own career. On top of all that, you're raising your boys on your own, plus you've taken in Luis Ayala as well--are you sure you can handle the responsibility of running a newsletter?"

Anne smiled. "It really shouldn't be too much different than what I'm already doing. As I said, we've already had an informal information-sharing network--now it's just a question of streamlining the process." She paused. "But I could use some help."

"Ah, that's where I come in," Kaylyn said knowingly.

"You and a few of the others." Anne walked over to the desk in the corner and switched on the computer. "I've already been in touch with Greskendrtregk a number of times--in fact, he's been the one who's been getting the word out about various Voyager Family Association events to those people who are located offworld. Like Commander Tuvok's wife on Vulcan, Chell's sister on Bolarus IX, Lieutenant Torres' uncle on Qo'noS." Anne touched a few controls. "It was really convenient when he was stationed on Deep Space Nine, but he was transferred a few months ago. Now he's on the _U.S.S. Halcyon_."

Kaylyn leaned over. "Actually, sending it out isn't going to be a problem--once you have the newsletter, you just need a database of addresses and it's taken care of. What's going to be time consuming will be gathering all the items each month and putting it together." She straightened up. "Would you want it to come out more often than once a month?"

"No, that should be enough, especially since we only have a datastream transmission once a month at present, though that may be subject to change as they get closer." Anne brought up another file. "Here's the list of friends and family for each member of the crew."

"Where did you get these from?" Kaylyn asked. "You've got a lot more than just the standard 'emergency contact' addresses here."

"I've got those as well, but basically, these are the names of all the people who have been sending letters to _Voyager_ since regular communication was established. Pathfinder was keeping very strict records, making sure no messages were sent by anyone not on the approved communication list."

"Some have undoubtedly changed over the years," said Kaylyn as she started reading. "I don't even recognize some of these names. Who's this?" she asked, pointing to a particular name near the top of the list. "Mark Johnson? Is he a relative of the captain's?"

"He was engaged to Captain Janeway seven years ago, before the ship was lost," Anne said quietly. "That's the older list you're looking at; I'm pretty sure he's not on the current one." She tapped a few controls. "Here, this is more accurate and up-to-date."

"I wouldn't be surprised if a number of 'significant others' have moved on," Kaylyn said as she continued reading. 

Anne nodded. "Harry Kim's fiancé, Noah Lessing's wife..." She fell silent, wondering if maybe these weren't the healthy ones, the people who were able to move on instead of clinging to the past, living on hope. 

Echoing her own thoughts, Kaylyn asked, "I was wondering, Anne--you don't have to answer this if you don't feel comfortable--but after _Voyager_ was officially declared lost, did you ever think about marrying again?"

"Not really," Anne hedged, "I had young children to think of, and when you come down to it, I just wasn't ready yet. The boys were so very little--Patrick hadn't even started school when _Voyager_ disappeared." 

"But other spouses also had young children, like Noah Lessing's wife--" Kaylyn pulled herself up short. "I'm sorry. This really isn't any of my business, and the last thing I want to do is look like I'm passing judgment on someone for--"

"We're friends, Kaylyn, and it's OK for you to ask me this. I wish I had an answer for you, but I just don't." Anne sighed. "I guess it depends on the individual. I just know I wasn't ready to give up on Joe, and in hindsight I'm really glad I didn't. Though Joe did, well, 'scold' is not quite the appropriate word. He said he wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life alone, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty and duty. If he were really were dead, that is. And being that he's not, he was damn glad I waited!" Anne smiled, despite the tears she felt threatening. "You might also ask about those relatives who still cling stubbornly to hope, even after getting definitive word that their loved one is dead. Look at Mitch Dalby, for example." 

"Dalby--"

"The twin brother of Ken, one of the _Voyager_ Maquis. Ken was killed during one of the battles with the Borg last year. Mitch was also a Maquis, and was involved with Mariah Henley, maybe even engaged once, I think. He was not on the _Liberty_ for that mission in the Badlands--he'd sustained severe wounds in a previous raid and had been left at the base camp to recuperate."

"I take it he was one of the refugees from the first waves of Jem'Hadar attacks?"

Anne nodded. "He spent the majority of the war years in a Federation prison."

"I still don't know many of the family members," Kaylyn commented. "Heck, I'm still not as familiar with the names of the _Voyager_ crew themselves."

"Give it time," Anne said. "All right, let's go through this in some type of order. Commander Daeja Thev. She's a regular correspondent for Captain Janeway. "

"Is that a relative?" Kaylyn asked. 

"No," Anne replied, "I think just a good friend." 

"On the list?" 

Anne hesitated and then said, "Should we keep this to just family members, or not?"

"Any one who's writing on a regular basis should be included," Kaylyn said decisively. "After all, there are some members of the crew who don't have any close relatives, or else a friend of the family is acting as the relay or contact person."

"Good point. Other contacts for Captain Janeway include her mother and sister." Anne checked off those names. "Commander Chakotay has a sister, Maya, married to Esteban Lupes and living on Dorvan V. Also a cousin, Terven, in Ohio."

For some time they worked their way through the list of crew, in some cases making a note to check for more current addresses.

"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres," said Anne. "An uncle, K'Nar, on Qo'noS, plus a cousin, Elizabeth Torres Steinbach who lives in Geneva."

"What about parents? I've got a John Torres listed here," said Kaylyn.

Anne hesitated. "I don't know the whole story, but apparently the lieutenant was estranged from her father and her mother is dead. Stick with the cousin as her primary contact--we'll let Elizabeth decide how much information to pass on to him and how much contact there should be."

"I'm sorry, Anne, but I don't agree. Let John Torres make the decision if he wants to be involved or not." 

Anne sighed. "You're probably right." She stretched. "Last in this section is the Paris family."

"You think the Admiral needs a newsletter?" Kaylyn said. "He's in charge of the whole Pathfinder project! There's probably nothing going on that concerns _Voyager_ that he doesn't know about."

"True, but I'm sure his wife and daughters would still appreciate it," Anne said. Alicia Paris, like Gretchen Janeway, had been very reticent about getting involved in Voyager Family Association doings from the outset. They'd been happy to attend the various events that had been organized over the year, but had both shied away from any type of leadership role. 

Anne had been worried about stepping on toes, and had made a point of contacting Mrs. Janeway when she first conceived of the newsletter. Gretchen's reaction had not been quite what she expected.

"Good Lord, no," Gretchen had said emphatically. She quickly added, "I think your idea is a marvelous one, Anne, but I personally don't have any desire to be involved, other than in the role of interested family member."

"But Mrs. Janeway, you're a relative of the captain--"

"And because of that I should be the one in charge?" Gretchen shook her head. "I'm aware that a lot of military spouses more or less 'assume the rank' of their husbands or wives when it comes to interactions with the other families. But I think in the case of _Voyager_, whose circumstances are so exceptional to begin with, we shouldn't be so hidebound. Better for those who have the interest and ideas to be the ones in a position of authority."

"But are you sure you don't mind?" Anne pressed.

"I've lived the Starfleet life for close to sixty years, Anne. I've been married to a Starfleet Admiral, and have raised one of my children to be a Starfleet officer as well. I've had more than my share of pain and loss, I sometimes feel. It would probably be better to have someone else, someone more energetic take on the job."

"What about your other daughter?"

Gretchen said, "You can ask her, but I'm sure Phoebe would say the same thing, beg off from any leadership role." Gretchen grinned. "Besides, Phoebe doesn't really have the time--and between you and me, not the people skills either--to undertake something like this."

Kaylyn broke into Anne's reverie. "Oh, one more name I almost overlooked. Who is Dr. Lewis Zimmerman?"

"Oh, he's the 'contact' for _Voyager_'s Doctor--his father, if you will."

"But he's just a hologram," Kaylyn said, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Yes, he is, but a sentient one," Anne answered, "and as such is a full member of the crew. And he deserves the same rights as any other."

***

Once again, the select group of admirals was gathered in a small, nondescript room. However, their number was not the same as it had been three days earlier. Owen Paris was absent. 

Hayes cleared his throat, as a way of getting started. "After our last meeting, it's clear we have a number of issues we need to clear up." Although it was patently to clear to everyone what the topic was, he added, "About _Voyager_."

Ross coughed slightly. "I was scanning the news reports from the last 72 hours, looking specifically for items related to _Voyager_. There's been a lot on how the ship is once more spaceborne, a brief mention of their layover at the Vordai space station, even a 'human interest' feature on some play the crew put on for their hosts. But there hasn't been a single mention of the slipstream drive. Or the fact that they're once more looking at an ETA within the year."

"Well, that's not surprising," Cobum said, perhaps displeased that Ross had spoken first. "Surely you can see the wisdom, from a security standpoint, of not divulging what will surely be classified technical information. As the only AQ power with a drive far advanced beyond standard warp--"

"Oh, please," said Necheyev, rolling her eyes. "It's fairly obvious why no mention has been made--the slipstream, for all intents and purposes is still unproved as far as being an effective means of propulsion." She bestowed a sardonic glance on Cobum. "_Voyager_ already had one experience with this type of drive three years ago--an unsuccessful experience. Adapted alien technology is notoriously unreliable. There's no guarantee that this time will be any different." She smiled, but it was not a pleasant expression. "In all fairness, I should point out that the reasons behind the first slipstream failure were lost in the details of yet another time-travel experience."

"You know, the Vulcans used to b-b-be adamant that time-travel was impossible," Gelb said reflectively. 

"That was a very long time ago," answered Teller. "Since the early days of Starfleet, quite a few of our ships have had not one, but several trips through time. As I recall, Kirk alone had five such experiences," she gave a self-deprecating smile, "though none of them occurred during my tour of duty with him."

Necheyev inclined her head. "Of course, as the timeline is invariably reset at the end, we really have no way of knowing if any of these accounts are authentic or not."

"I assume you're speaking from a philosophical stand point," said Blanc somewhat irritably. "Otherwise, we wouldn't need a Temporal Prime Directive, or a department of Temporal Investigation." 

Hayes drummed his fingers impatiently. "We're getting off track here, people." He turned to Ross. "Yes, you're correct, Bill. The omission of any mention of the slipstream on the newsvids was deliberate, but it was purely for PR purposes--why get the public's hopes up prematurely? Not to mention the families'. We've had dashed hopes before, as recently as the transwarp. It was a real disaster when we heard the ship had an emergency crash landing."

"Not to mention from the perspective of the _Voyager_ crew," Teller muttered. Next to her, Gelb made no sound, but his gill slits twitched, signifying his displeasure.

"The families themselves must know something," objected Ross. "I'm sure some mention was made in at least a few of the crew's messages."

"Not necessarily," said Necheyev, "And for the same reason--not to raise false hopes." She tapped the PADD in front of her, and scrolled down till she found what she was looking for. "Janeway's report was very clear: they were going to implement the slipstream for the first time shortly after their departure from the Vordai station. Preliminary test results were good, but there was no way of knowing for sure how the system would react in real-time." She folded her hands together primly. "It's quite possible that none of the crew spoke about the slipstream in their letters home."

"You mean we don't know that for a fact if any of them included it or not?" asked Blanc. The others turned to him in surprise.

"The content of personal letters--" began Cobum.

"The Federation clause stipulating the right to privacy for personal communiqués does not apply to messages in the datastream," cut in Blanc. "Not since the security breaches last year, when the outgoing datastream was tampered with on more than one occasion." He didn't go into any further details, but his listeners knew exactly what he was referring to: the deranged Bajoran Vedek who had implanted a subliminal message, stirring the Maquis crewmembers to stage a brief mutiny, as well as a short time later when some Ferengi mercenaries managed to intercept the Barclay-hologram.

Hayes exhaled impatiently. "Yes, all incoming or outgoing messages are now scanned before entering the datastream. But it's strictly a subfrequency analysis, making sure that all the transponder signals match. We don't scan the content of the messages themselves, let alone search for keywords."

"But the capability does exist," Blanc insisted. "It could be done." He stared challengingly at the Commander in Chief, who looked away uncomfortably.

"Yes, it could be done, given due cause," Hayes admitted finally. "But I highly doubt we have to worry in any case." He leaned back in his chair. "So what if a few family members know about the slipstream attempt? They're not going to go around spreading the news. Why would they? Besides, after the first flurry of 'human interest' articles when regular contact was established, the media has been more or less ignoring the relatives. We don't have to worry about a leak from there."

"I agree," Necheyev said decisively. "Worrying about it would be a waste of our time. All major news concerning _Voyager_ comes through the Starfleet Department of Public Relations. Commander Craig has been doing an admirable job of dispensing the regular _Voyager_ updates. We can decide if and when we want to go public with this latest development. But I personally think we should hold off for at least another few months. At least let's see if it the drive works."

Teller shifted in her seat, obviously still perturbed at the earlier exchange. Her eyes glinted dangerously. "Not to mention that keeping the news under wraps a bit longer gives you the opportunity to decide on the official response to _Voyager_'s return in the comfort and privacy of your own private cabal."

"As you are one of the 'cabal', I don't think you really have any cause for complaint," Cobum said somewhat nastily. His implication was clear--that if she didn't like it, she could leave. "Do you really want to see this kicked around in the General Assembly?"

Teller flushed angrily but before she could say anything, Hayes interrupted.

"Exactly. So let's get on with our meeting. First of all, do we have a consensus of how we're going to treat the _Voyager_ crew--do we consider them returning heroes?"

No one was surprised when Cobum spoke up first. "In the eyes of the media, they certainly are. God knows that in this post-war climate, after the beating we took from the Dominion, we need heroes, need something to feel good about. _Voyager_'s survival alone--"

"Yes, after the Dominion war," said Ross, leaning forward. "What about all the commanders and ships and crewmen who were lost in that war, valiantly defending our quadrant against invasion? What about the ones who survived? They also fought against insurmountable odds. Are they any less heroic? Our forces were outnumbered in so many battles--"

"_Voyager_ was outnumbered as well, and fighting b-b-battles in a quadrant not our own," reminded Gelb gently. "And no one expected them to survive."

Ross had the grace to look embarrassed. "I don't mean to take anything away from _Voyager_'s success; but neither should we hold them any higher than the crews who took their lumps closer to home." He coughed nervously. "That's all I'm saying."

"There's also something about coming back from the dead," observed Necheyev dryly. "Two years after they were lost, we declared them officially dead. Remember the memorial service? Not since Wolf 359 was there such a general outpouring of sympathy--"

"Too bad they didn't have the decency to stay dead or lost after that?" asked Teller archly.

"I didn't say that," Necheyev said, an edge to her voice. It had been on Necheyev's orders that _Voyager_ had been dispatched to the Badlands in pursuit of the Maquis vessel in the first place. "I don't think there was anyone happier or more relieved than I when we received that first communication from _Voyager_, when they sent their EMH through that alien communications array." 

Hayes permitted himself a small smile. "No one except their families, of course."

Cobum jerked his head up suddenly. "One thing's for sure, it's certainly a unique event. Other ships have been lost under mysterious circumstances, never heard from again. Good people, too. The _Hera_ under Silva La Forge, to name just one."

"And the _Equinox_ under Ransom," Blanc said casually. "Mustn't forget them--they vanished not too long after _Voyager_ did. But notice where all the attention was focused."

Hayes rubbed his face tiredly. "Considering how Ransom's bunch ended up, I for one am not complaining. But that's neither here nor there. _Equinox_ was just a small survey ship on a research mission. _Voyager_ was the latest and most advanced of the _Intrepid_ class vessels--and on a mission to capture a terrorist cell."

But Blanc wasn't finished yet. "It's still curious, especially when one considers the obvious similarities between Ransom and Janeway."

Gelb said, "B-B-Both scientists, you mean?" His tone was carefully neutral, yet still managed to convey a note of warning.

All waited with bated breath to hear if and when any details of Janeway's 'rogue' career in the Delta Quadrant--well documented by her own ship's logs not to mention her senior officers'--would come up. 

However, after a long pause, Blanc turned away from Gelb's unblinking stare and said, "Of course, what did you think I meant?" 

Gelb's gill slits twitched, but otherwise his expression remained unchanged. "Nothing. Other than the fact that Ransom was a noted exobiologist, b-b-but didn't have the command experience that Janeway did."

"Nor was he the special protégé of some of the Admirals sitting here today," observed Necheyev, with a look at the Nereid.

"I was referring to her military record," Gelb said quietly. He had been one of Janeway's instructors in Command School. "There was a very g-g-good reason why Janeway was g-g-given command of _Voyager_, our latest technological marvel of a ship. Not to mention sent on such an important mission."

Necheyev leaned forward. "Her chief of security was on that Maquis ship, if you recall. If I hadn't assigned Janeway to that mission, she would have been angling for it anyway. As it is, she argued for pushing up the launch date by a month."

"After it was clear that the Maquis ship had already disappeared," countered Gelb.

"All right," Hayes began, but Cobum interrupted.

"The facts are as follows: _Voyager_ was sent out, we lost contact with them, a great deal of play was given to their disappearance and then four years later, after they were long since forgotten, we heard from them again. Just the fact of their survival was enough for a nine day wonder and then some. Even if regular communication hadn't been established in the last two years, anything related to _Voyager_ would still be a major focus of the media attention."

"So you're saying we should allow the media to dictate our policy, how we treat our ships and crew?" Blanc charged.

"No, you stubborn old coot, that's not what I'm saying at all," Cobum said, struggling to control his temper. 

"It's not like the _Voyager_ crew is a homogenous whole, you know," Ross interjected. "You're got career Starfleet officers, but also former ter--, I mean, civilians."

Teller eyed him with distaste. "Some of the Maquis were former Starfleet officers."

"And some were not Starfleet," Ross said, "or even Academy dropouts."

"And there are a few civilians on b-b-board that ship who aren't even from the Alpha Quadrant!" said Gelb. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Ross said stiffly, "Just that there are differences among the crew of that ship, so perhaps there should be differences in how we handle their cases when they return. Maquis, DQ natives, Starfleet---"

"The Starfleet contingent isn't one unified whole, either," noted Blanc. "You've got former _Equinox_ officers on board _Voyager_ as well."

"Everybody's favorite whipping boys," Teller said, shaking her head. "Really, those five have more than paid for their--"

"Perhaps this is a side issue," said Cobum, raising his voice to be heard, "but there's something else we'll have to consider if _Voyager_'s return is imminent. You've got a bunch of officers on that ship who haven't been promoted in over seven years. We'll have to fast-track them all to bring them in line with their peers in the Alpha Quadrant."

"You could scarcely expect Janeway to stick to a regular promotions schedule," said Gelb chided, though he clearly welcomed the change of topic. "If it had truly taken them 70 years to get b-b-back, it'd b-b-be with a shipload of captains."

"Forget about promotions for a moment," put in Necheyev, "but that does beg the question of those field commissions Janeway granted."

Ross nodded emphatically. "That's right. There's been a tacit acceptance of the Maquis field commissions all these years, but what happens now? Do we allow those to stand? Before we can even discuss that, we have to decide what we're going to do about the Maquis themselves." His tone left no doubt what his opinion was.

Teller sighed. "For all that they started out as criminals, they have since more than made up for it by their service aboard _Voyager_. There's a strong case for saying they've been 'redeemed' in light of their heroism." She looked at Ross challengingly. "How many of the _Voyager_ Maquis have died in the line of duty?"

Ross didn't look away. "So they agreed to throw in their lot with Janeway, and became members of her crew. What else would you expect? It's not like they really had a choice, if they ever wanted to get back home."

"I suppose it's fair to ask if we really want them as part of the 'Fleet afterwards," said Cobum, clearly unable to stay out of the conversation for long.

Necheyev pursed her lips. "I'll leave that for others to decide, but I would like to point out one thing. The Federation signed a treaty with Cardassia in 2370. After years of tensions, peace was finally at hand. Perhaps there were areas where the treaty wasn't perfect--" she smiled, knowing they knew full well who was the architect of this treaty-- "But we had a signed agreement. Now consider that maybe, just maybe, the Cardassians wouldn't have been so quick to disregard that treaty, to ally with the Dominion, if the Maquis hadn't sprung up to be a thorn in their side." 

"That's a load of targ manure," said Teller heatedly. "The blame for that fiasco lies squarely on Gul Dukat, and his desire for power." Ross opened his mouth, but Teller swung on him angrily. "I know _you_ don't agree with me, Bill, but you don't exactly have any lost love for the Maquis, do you? You'd like to blame the entire Dominion War on them, if you thought you could make it stick."

"Michael Eddington," said Ross, struggling to control his temper. "Cal Hudson. I could go on and on--do you know just how much damage the Maquis inflicted--and on Starfleet itself, not just Cardassia? To what extent they set back Cardassian-Federation relations?"

Hayes reached out and held Ross' arm. "Hold on, both of you. You're both right. Yes, Dukat was out for power and later turned out to be a full scale psycho, but you can't lay the blame entirely at his door." He turned to Teller. "The Maquis were also a major part of the problem, just as Alynna said--they threatened the existence of the treaty." He sat back tiredly. "Otherwise why would we have sent _Voyager_ out to arrest that cell in the first place?"

Ross was far from mollified. "Yes, _Voyager_ was sent out to arrest the members of a cell headed by a Starfleet renegade--Chakotay. Even if he did bother resigning his commission first, he still betrayed Starfleet when he joined the Maquis."

"There is a difference b-b-between Chakotay, and Michael Eddington or Cal Hudson," said Gelb.

"Just a difference of degree," Necheyev retorted. "When you come down to it, they all still turned around and stabbed the Federation in the back, undermining our position."

Teller said tiredly, "They felt that we abandoned them first...but that's all water under the bridge by now." She addressed her remarks to Hayes. "The few Maquis who survived the war have since been released from prison. The Maquis crewmembers aboard _Voyager_ have served valiantly-- it's doubtful _Voyager_ would have ever survived without them, let alone been able to adapt such varied alien technologies as to allow us to speak of their imminent arrival. That should count for _something_."

There was an uncomfortable silence as all eyes fell on place usually occupied by Owen Paris. His daughter-in-law--the brilliant engineer who had kept _Voyager_ intact and was also the key to understanding all those new technologies-- was a Maquis. For that matter, Paris' son also had a stint in the Maquis to his discredit. Though the younger Paris' situation was slightly different, as he had been offered a deal to cooperate with Starfleet in return for a possible mitigation of his prison sentence. And he had unquestionably kept his side of the bargain.

Blanc sourly pointed out, "Janeway has already made it damn clear she is going to fight for her Maquis officers."

"Which just brings up problems with Janeway herself," Hayes said grimly.


	3. Act 2

Paris sat in his private office at the Pathfinder office. A complicated star chart, tracing a trajectory that carefully skirted the black holes and other celestial phenomena at the center of the galaxy, was visible on the computer monitor. Commander Harkins had been in earlier, with Reg Barclay’s latest projections regarding _Voyager_'s most likely course. But Paris wasn't looking at the screen. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the small holophoto in the corner of his desktop.

The photo showed Tom as a very young man, in uniform, during his first Starfleet posting. He was smiling, the ghosts of Caldik Prime not yet looking out from his eyes. Nearby were other pictures of the Paris children--Tom along with his older sisters Kathleen and Moira--in various stages of growing up. There were also pictures of Kathleen's children. But the most recent photo of Tom was from that first tour of duty; there was nothing to commemorate any of the milestones of his life past that date.

Owen shifted uneasily in his seat. It had been just under a week since he had conveyed the latest results from the datastream to Hayes' inner council. He sighed in frustration. Here he sat at the heart of the Pathfinder project--_Voyager_'s lifeline to the AQ--and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being kept in the dark, not knowing exactly what was going on with the ship and her crew. He strongly suspected that there had been additional meetings that Hayes didn't notify him about. He briefly debated whether or not to make a stink about it, or at least call Hayes and ask for information. His hand hovered over the comm link for a second or two, then dropped to the surface of the desk. He knew quite well why he wasn't being included any longer. 

In the utter silence, the uncertainty of it all weighed on him. In a way, he felt like he was back in those terrible days when _Voyager_ had first been lost. He remembered sitting through a meeting at Headquarters, retracing the ship's projected route in the Badlands, playing and replaying the last message received from the ship, then sifting through reports from Starfleet vessels combing the area. They had found no debris or other evidence that _Voyager_ had been destroyed. There had been a seemingly endless meeting trying to determine whether the Cardassians could be trusted, if their claims of having nothing to do with either ship's disappearance could be verified. Everyone in the room that day was well aware that Tom Paris had been aboard _Voyager_ as an observer, in exchange for early parole from the prison facility in Auckland. At the end of the session, one of the other admirals had turned to him and simply said, "I'm sorry about your son, Owen." 

Paris winced as he remembered his harsh reply, "Don't be. I lost him a long time before he ever set foot on _Voyager_." 

He had long since repented of those words, even before he heard Tom was still alive. As he had at least a hundred times before, he hoped he could have a second chance, but he was all too aware of what a fragile thing hope is. _Voyager_ was still so very far away; their situation was still so very dangerous. And in today's rapidly shifting political climate, who knew what they would be returning to?

His chrono beeped. 1800. Suddenly, he switched off his monitor, swept the PADDS from the desk into a drawer and strode toward the door. His aide, Lieutenant Chung, looked up, clearly startled by the admiral's unexpected appearance at such an early hour.

"I'm going to knock off early today, Chung."

"Yes, sir."

"If anyone tries to get in touch with me," Paris said, then paused. 

"You'll be at home, sir?"

"Yes. I'll be at home."

Paris walked through the corridors toward the exit, mechanically responding to greetings he scarcely heard. He was thinking of _Voyager_'s near-disastrous attempt with the transwarp. For the past week he'd carried around the knowledge of _Voyager_'s new drive, keeping it strictly to himself. He hadn't revealed the slipstream to Alicia, because he didn't want her to be hurt again, have her hopes raised yet again for no purpose. But perhaps now it was time to confide in his wife.

*** 

Alicia Paris saw the flitter through the window, and wondered why her husband was home so early. She had just finished wiping her hands on a towel when he came in.

"Hello, dear," he said and gave her a perfunctory kiss. She cast a series of quick looks at him, trying to determine if something was wrong. It was hard to tell; Owen was not the type of man who typically wore his emotions on his sleeve. To a casual observer, his face was set in its usual placid lines. However, she could tell by the faint tightness around his mouth that he was upset. No, she corrected herself, not quite upset. But he was definitely on edge.

With forced lightness, she said, "This is a pleasant surprise-- I wasn't expecting you at this hour."

He mumbled something non-committal, as he made his way over to the comm link in the foyer. "Any messages?"

"Nothing important. Moira called. They just came back from a week up at Lake Tahoe."

"Did her boys have a good time?"

"Yes." She paused. "Would you like some dinner?"

"Did you eat yet?"

"Yes, but--"

"It's all right, I'm not hungry."

"Don't be silly, Owen. You have to eat something." She went over to the replicator and tapped in a quick series of commands. She carefully picked up the steaming bowl that materialized and placed it on the table. "There you go--plain hot tomato soup. Your favorite."

Owen sat down at the table and picked up the spoon. He began to eat slowly, almost disinterestedly. Alicia watched him with a growing sense of unease. Finally, he laid the spoon down and turned to her.

"There's something I haven't told you."

"About _Voyager_?"

If he was surprised that she jumped to that conclusion, he gave no sign. "Yes, about _Voyager_. As you know, they've left that planet--"

"Tom wrote about that in his letter. They were spending a few weeks at an alien space dock to complete repairs, and then they'd be resuming their course for home." Suddenly she stopped, assailed by a terrible fear. "Did something happen to the ship? Or to Tom or B'Elanna or the baby?"

"No, no, nothing like that," he said reassuringly. "As far as I know, everyone is all right. And as far as the ship itself is concerned, Kathryn made a comment that it hasn't been in such good condition in _years_."

"Then what's the problem?" she asked, still concerned.

"They've got a new experimental drive. A faster one..."

"B'Elanna was able to fix the transwarp coil?"

He shook his head. "It's a total loss, from what I've heard. And anyway, there were problems with it that they weren't quite able to overcome--witness the crash in the first place. No, this is an entirely different drive. Slipstream."

"How did they come up with something else so quickly?" Alicia asked, puzzled. She got herself a cup of coffee from the replicator and joined him at the table.

"Apparently, one of the other engineers, Carey, had been working on it, off and on, over a long period of time, but when they opted to develop the transwarp, he shelved his ideas. But over the last six months, he began working on it again."

"Carey? You mean Anne's husband." Over the last two years Alicia had been in occasional contact with the woman, and had applauded her efforts to try and forge connections between the various _Voyager_ families. Privately, Alicia had been grateful. It would have been only natural for Alicia herself to take on that role, but she hadn't wanted to for several reasons. Aside from her natural reticence and dislike for public speaking, she didn't feel entirely comfortable as it was her husband who was the admiral in charge of the Pathfinder project. Far better for someone else to be in the spotlight, as the official face of the Voyager Family Association.

"Yes, Joe Carey. Apparently B'Elanna is not the only talented engineer on board, though Kathryn still considers her indispensable." He smiled briefly. "But _Voyager_'s got slipstream now, and apparently they've been able to work out the problems with it. If all goes well, they'll be home within the year."

"But that's wonderful news! I can't believe Tom didn't mention it." She stopped short, suddenly realizing that news of the slipstream hadn't appeared anywhere. And Owen himself had not mentioned it till now.

"What's wrong?"

He sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Not everyone thinks it's such good news."

She caught the undercurrent at once. "Not everyone at Starfleet, that is."

"Exactly."

Alicia didn't interrupt as Owen recounted the meeting he had been at a few days earlier, when the datastream had first arrived, as well as the different attitudes held by the various admirals. She didn't react until his last sentence.

"But I will no longer be sitting in on the meetings."

Alicia asked, "Why not? That doesn't make any sense."

He pushed his chair back, but did not stand. "My hands are tied, Alicia, due to the inherent conflict of interest." He exhaled sharply. "My son and daughter-in-law are members of _Voyager_'s crew, as well as my soon-to-be adopted son," he said, referring to Icheb, the young Brunali recovered from the Borg. "And of course it's well known that Kathryn Janeway was my protégée. Any argument I make regarding the treatment of the ship and crew won't be given as much weight because of all these factors." 

Alicia sighed. She knew better than anyone that Owen had never given or asked that others give Tom preferential treatment; in fact, to avoid even the appearance of any impropriety, he had made things that much harder on him all the years he was growing up, continuing through Tom's early years in Starfleet. And Owen had completely turned his back on his son when the truth finally came out about what happened at Caldik Prime.

Alicia rose and carried their dishes to the recycler, then picked up a sponge and began wiping down the counter. How long would Tom have to pay for bearing the Paris name? She glanced back at her husband, saw him sitting with his head in his hands. 

To any outside observer, the Paris marriage had always been rock solid. No one guessed at the major strains it had undergone around the time of Tom's summary departure from Starfleet, compounded by his subsequent involvement in the Maquis, and made rapidly worse by his capture and sentencing to the penal colony in Auckland. She had come close to leaving Owen then, but in the end she had stayed. She hadn't been sure why at the time. Only later, after _Voyager_ was lost, had she become aware of just how much Owen himself had suffered. And not, as she'd angrily accused him, because of the way the Paris name had been dragged through the mud. No, Owen genuinely loved his son, even if he did have difficulty expressing it. For too long she had been blinded by her own anger, her own hurt for her son, to realize it.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, her grandmother used to say. Incredibly enough, that seemed to have been the case for Owen and Tom. Maybe they had to undergo the physical distance, the fear of losing one another for ever, to begin taking the first few steps toward each other again. And now that _Voyager_'s return seemed imminent, it wasn't fair to think the chance could be snatched away from them once more. 

Her heart was full of questions she could not ask. Would Owen still be able to find a way to fight for _Voyager_? Would Tom understand his father wasn't abandoning him? There were other people involved here as well, an entire ship load of people, with families who cared about them and had already given them up for dead once. What about them?

Instead, she said, "If they're so worried about a conflict of interest, then most of the Admiralty should disqualify themselves from making any decisions regarding _Voyager_." She waited till Owen looked up. "Most of them are on a first name basis with Kathryn Janeway, either taught her or had her serve under them at some point in her career. Are they willing to recuse themselves?" She smiled bitterly. "No, I didn't think so." 

Owen came up behind her, and slipped his arms around her waist. "Alicia." Slowly she turned. "Alicia, I agree with you. But that's the way it is." He lifted her chin till she was looking straight into his piercing blue eyes. "But just because _my_ hands are tied doesn't mean there isn't another way."

***

The comm chimed. 

Anne glared at the deceptively innocent-looking piece of equipment. It seemed like her entire morning had consisted of one interruption after another. Every time she sat down to do something constructive--like prepare her lecture notes for her week's classes--another distraction arose. First there'd been the hustle of getting the boys off to school, amid a frantic search for missing homework PADDS and mislaid sports equipment. Then her mother-in-law had called, followed by her mother, sister and cousin in short order. Then the recycler had backed up for the third time in two days, and the quick 'fix' Joe had written her about 3 months ago no longer appeared to be effective, necessitating a call to the repairman. 

And now the bloody comm unit was chiming again. She considered ignoring it, but figured she might as well acknowledge that her morning was already shot.

"Yes, what do you want?" she said curtly, as the image of a dark-haired man appeared.

"And hello to you, too," said Mitch Dalby in amusement.

"Mitch!" Anne said, somewhat abashed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so--I've just been having one of those days."

"If now is a bad time, I can always call back later," he offered. 

"No, no, it's all right." She took a deep breath. "Actually, I'm glad you called--I was wondering how things were going at your end, in terms of research for the newsletter. Kaylyn said the other day that she'd almost finished putting together the photos for our inaugural issue."

"That's what I'm calling about, actually," Mitch said, his grin vanishing. "I've run into some problems."

"Problems?" Anne echoed, and sat back in dismay. She'd asked Mitch to contact the Starfleet Department of News & Information for basic information on _Voyager_, current ship's position and distance from the Alpha Quadrant, latest updates and so on--above and beyond what had already appeared on the newsvids. "What happened?"

"As soon as I started making inquiries, I was told that the information I had requested was classified and required a high level security clearance for access." He smiled sardonically. "Which of course, as a former convicted terrorist and felon, I can't even dream of attaining."

She didn't miss the bitter note in his voice nor the downward twist to his mouth. The Maquis had been very nearly wiped out at the hands of the Jem'Hadar during the war; the only survivors had been those, like Mitch, who had been in prison. True, they had been released at the war's end, but no one had ever acknowledged that their fears about the Cardassian had borne fruit, nor had any official apology or offer of restitution been made for their losses. Anne didn't honestly know how she felt about their situation--she could understand the issue from Starfleet's perspective though she tended toward natural sympathy for the Maquis. In general, she felt it best not to bring it up in conversation.

So instead she said, "Have you tried speaking to Commander Craig? He's the PR liaison over at the Pathfinder project. Maybe he can be of help."

"I'm way ahead of you," Mitch replied. "I already spoke to Craig, numerous times over the past two weeks."

"And was he helpful?"

Mitch shook his head. "No, he wasn't."

"He wasn't?" Anne was surprised. "You mean he couldn't give you any additional information?"

"Either couldn't or wouldn't. He said, and I quote,'all pertinent information for public consumption has already been made available via the newsvids. We have nothing further to add at this time.' "

"But that's ridiculous!" Anne said. "There's a lot of news that never even makes it to the airwaves! I can mention at least 3 or 4 items I know through Joe's letters that I would not have known about if I were part of the general public."

"Maybe they figure the general public isn't interested in the details." Mitch shrugged. "I'm an exception, Anne."

"What are you talking about? You're a _Voyager_ family member!"

"Not any longer." 

Anne hesitated, aware she was embarking on yet another sensitive issue. "I thought you were corresponding with Mariah Henley."

"Just once. After Ken--after he was lost. She wrote to tell me personally, didn't want me just hearing it from some stranger in a Starfleet uniform." He was quiet for a moment, then looked her straight in the eye. "But that was it. Mariah and I have no other connection--we'd both moved on a long time ago." He cleared his throat. "Regardless, I'm very grateful to you and to the 'network' for keeping me informed, telling me things I wouldn't know otherwise. My brother may be gone, but I still feel a basic connection to many of the people on _Voyager_. I'm still concerned about their welfare."

"As well you should be," Anne responded. "Well, perhaps it wasn't a very good idea in the first place to approach Starfleet, as it seems that we family members know more than the brass are willing to say on the record. Why, I haven't even seen an official announcement about the slipstream drive..." She brought herself up short.

"You've got a point there," Mitch said. "You'd think they would be trumpeting that news from the rooftops. But they haven't mentioned it at all. I wonder why?" He frowned. 

"It's probably not important." She shook herself. "All right, how about we switch jobs--you can finish going through the family lists and gathering background notes, and I'll give a call to Commander Craig."

"Suits me just fine. But why go back to Craig--why not just go directly to Admiral Paris? He's the head of Pathfinder, after all."

"I suppose I could, although I really wouldn't want to bother him..." Anne said hesitantly.

"Didn't you speak with him before?" Mitch asked curiously. "I thought you'd said Paris had contacted you once or twice previously."

"It was his wife, Alicia, I spoke to," she explained. "Not the Admiral."

"Well, all I can say is, no matter which of the brass you talk to, you'll probably have better luck than I would in finding anything out," Mitch said. 

"I'm willing to do your job for you, Mr. Dalby, but I'm not letting you off the hook," Anne said with mock sternness, hoping to distract him.

"Talking to the families?" He laughed. "That's easy."

"Let's hope you still say that after talking to Mrs. Kim," Anne said ruefully. "A lovely woman, don't get me wrong. She means very well, but oh, she can go on and on...to sit and listen to her for very long would try the patience of a saint."

Mitch rolled his eyes. "That's more your job description than mine, Anne--I'm one of the sinners, remember?"

"Not in my book," she said firmly.

After an awkward pause, he said, "Well, I've intruded on your day too much already. I'll check in with you toward the end of the week and let you know what I've come up with."

"Good. It was nice talking to you, Mitch."

"Bye."

Anne closed the connection and turned back to her desk. Finally, she would be able to get some work done! And to her gratification, she was able to do just that for the next twenty minutes.

A quick glance at the chrono warned her that she would have to get going if she wanted a chance to stop at the University library before her first class was scheduled to begin. She had just taken a few steps toward the stairs when the doorbell rang. She turned to open it and stopped in surprise.

Admiral Paris stood on the doorstep.

"I'm sorry for just dropping in on you unannounced, Mrs. Carey," he said with a slight smile. "But I was wondering if I might speak with you for a few minutes?"

Anne somehow managed to say, "Of course, Admiral. Please, come right in." She ushered him into the living room, noting to her dismay that her PADDS lay scattered all over the coffee table and a few of the chairs, and a pile of jackets and boots were in an untidy heap in the corner. "Please, forgive the mess," she murmured. "The house usually isn't so, uh--"

Again, he gave her that slight smile. "I remember what it's like having young children. Don't worry about it, Mrs. Carey. I didn't exactly give you any advance warning." He seated himself on the couch and looked at her expectantly.

Anne was still getting over her shock that the Admiral had come all the way to Ireland to meet with her. She had only met him in person once before, shortly after the beginning of the Pathfinder project, and she still didn't feel entirely comfortable around him. She certainly never expected him to be sitting in her living room as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A sudden thought made her heart leap into her throat. "There's something wrong, isn't there? That's why you're here. You've gotten word about Joe, that he's--" She couldn't bring herself to finish.

Paris half rose from his seat, his hands outstretched in a calming gesture. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm not here to deliver any bad news." He smiled reassuringly. "But as I said, I would like to speak with you."

Anne nodded numbly. Of course, she reminded herself, it was still another few weeks to go until the next datastream. There was no way the Admiral would have somehow heard anything about _Voyager_. She forced herself to smile. "May I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?" 

"Coffee would be fine, thank you. Black."

A few minutes later, Anne handed him a steaming mug of coffee and sat down opposite him. She cradled a cup of tea; its warmth was soothing, and holding the cup gave her something to do with her hands. In her absence, the Admiral had been examining the holophotos on the mantle. "You have a lovely family, Mrs. Carey."

"Thank you." She took a sip of her tea. For all that he had traveled so far to see her, he didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to get to the point. 

"My wife told me about the newsletter you're planning," he said at last. "I think it's a very good idea. And it will make an excellent start."

Anne said, puzzled, "What do you mean by 'a start?'"

Paris looked down into the depths of his mug for a moment. "As important as it is to share information among the families, it's also important that there be a voice heard speaking publicly on behalf of _Voyager_."

"Isn't that Starfleet's job?"

"Yes, of course, but they represent _Voyager_ the vessel, the Starfleet institution. It's not a bad idea to remind the public of the individuals who make up that entity _we_ refer to as _Voyager_." His eyes met hers. "Ordinary people who live and breathe, laugh and cry, and hope and dream, just like everyone else."

"It sounds like you expect more from the Voyager Families Association than just a newsletter," Anne said carefully.

Paris put his mug down, leaned forward, and clasped his hands together. "I do, because I think under the right leadership, your organization could fill a very valuable role. Think of it as playing _Voyager_'s advocate in the eyes of the public."

Anne got up and walked toward the window. The top of the cathedral's bell tower was just visible. As always, she found the sight comforting. "Up till now we haven't organized anything more complicated than a picnic." 

"I have every confidence in your abilities."

She reached up and smoothed her hand over her hair, the way she always did when she was thinking. "Why are you turning to me?"

"I think it would be best if this came from one of the family members."

She shook her head impatiently. "I understand that. No, what I'm asking is, why me? My husband is an assistant engineer aboard _Voyager_. Why not ask a relative of one of the senior officers?"

The Admiral's gaze didn't waver. "We need someone with good interpersonal skills, who knows how to get her point across. Someone who has the ability to forge the necessary networks, and is willing to devote the time and energy to it." He smiled. "And you've already demonstrated a lot of those characteristics."

She slowly nodded.

He rose to his feet. "In order to be as effective as possible, to rally as much support as you can to your cause, one of the first things you should do is to make yourselves and your efforts noticeable. Be sure to send a copy of your newsletter to every major media outlet. Not just the first issue, but every subsequent one as well. Notify them the next time you have an event or get together. Try and arrange a meeting, even a photo-op, with some of the higher profile politicians." He smiled briefly. "I don't imagine that will be too difficult--they'll be eager to bask in some of _Voyager_'s reflected glory as well." He walked to the door, then paused. Without turning around, he said, "It's important to let in the light as much as possible, in order to discourage the sort of thing that best flourishes in the dark." 

Anne stood there for a long time after he left, staring at the closed door. Myriad thoughts went through her mind, adding up to a pattern she first shied away from, but then gradually accepted. She moved over to the comm unit, sat down, and punched in the combination with a steady hand.

"Hello, Kaylyn," she said to the woman who answered. 

"Anne? What's going on?" Kaylyn said instantly.

"There have been some new developments." 

Kaylyn looked concerned. "And?"

"Meet me in San Francisco tomorrow afternoon."


	4. Act 3

"Before we get started today," Hayes said, looking around the room, "I want to make one thing perfectly clear. The last time we met, the discussion got rather heated and tempers were lost or nearly so. It was a less than productive session, to put it mildly. I don't want a repeat of that now. Especially as we're going to be touching upon some very sensitive issues."

"More sensitive than the issue of the Maquis?" said Teller rhetorically.

Hayes took her statement at face value. "Yes. Discussing possible improprieties by a Starfleet captain in the course of duty is probably the most sensitive issue we're going to have to deal with." He looked around once more. "All right, let's get started."

"The logical place to begin," said Necheyev quickly, before Cobum could start, "is with Janeway's first major decision in the Delta Quadrant--choosing to destroy the Caretaker's Array. That was a clear violation of the Prime Directive."

"Oh, do you really think so?" asked Cobum. "I can point you to other instances where I think Janeway came a great deal closer to violation of General Order 001. As for the destruction of the Array--that's more of an issue of 'reckless endangerment': deliberately stranding her ship in the Delta Quadrant."

Necheyev turned to her ever present PADD. "These are direct quotes from Janeway's own logs; her tactical officer, Commander Tuvok, argued against the destruction, specifically bringing up the Prime Directive. Janeway recorded their conversation verbatim:

"Tuvok: Any action you take to save the Ocampa will affect the balance of power in this sector, which would be in violation of the Prime Directive.'

"Janeway: 'Would it? We didn't ask to be involved, but we already are. I won't bargain away the lives of the Ocampa for a way to get _Voyager_ home.' "

Having finished her recital, Necheyev leaned back confidently in her seat. As if by chance, her gaze rested on Teller's face.

The older woman smiled briefly. "Surely you can't fault Janeway for this humanitarian decision to save an entire people from death." She looked around the conference table and saw only the cold hard glitter of logic in their eyes. "Or perhaps my estimation of your empathy is overstated."

"It seems obvious to me that Janeway destroyed the Array so the Kazon wouldn't get their hands on the advanced technology," said Ross, shifting slightly in his chair. Teller started, then smiled, seeing where he was going with this argument. He continued, "It's safe to say that if _Voyager_ hadn't been involved in the first place, the Caretaker would have destroyed his Array himself, thereby preventing the Kazon from accessing it. Janeway's actions therefore served to maintain the balance of power in the sector, not alter it."

"This is one of those decisions you have to trust the captain in the field to make, using his or her b-b-best judgment," added Gelb. "Not the admirals sitting b-b-back home comfortably, and hearing about it after the fact."

"But this brings up other questionable decisions that Janeway has made," said Blanc stiffly. "Decisions in which there is no question that she violated Starfleet directives."

"Before we get into that, perhaps we should look at the positive outcomes that resulted from many of Janeway's decisions," countered Teller.

"Have you been appointed the captain's chief cheerleader, Rachel?" asked Necheyev in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Let's just say I'm making sure both sides are presented fairly," Teller shot back. "Isn't that what these meetings are about? Discussing the facts? Fact: Janeway managed to eliminate the Borg as a viable threat." Raising her voice slightly, she went on, "It's amazing that one ship was able to go up against the power of the Collective time and again and not only survive, but manage to strike a death blow."

"Yes, the Borg!" spat Blanc. "It's about time we mentioned those cybernetic monsters, and got to the bottom of just what were Janeway's dealings with them." 

"Those dealings have rendered the Borg relatively toothless, as far as we're concerned," said Cobum. "In the aftermath of their civil war, it appears the Collective has enough to worry about putting its own house in order."

"Which doesn't preclude the possibility that one day the Collective will have regrouped enough to embark on yet another campaign of conquest and assimilation across the galaxy," pointed out Necheyev. "The threat hasn't truly been eliminated, just delayed."

"Read the reports, Alynna," Gelb said with a sigh. "The current projections--which are the most conservative, incidentally--state that it will take at least 50 years until the Collective will have recovered enough to g-g-gain a foothold in more than 10 percent of the Delta Quadrant. We won't have to worry about them showing up on our doorstep anytime soon."

"But what went down before this 'war to end all wars', to end the Collective as we know it?" said Blanc with heavy sarcasm. His scar showed whitely against his crimson face, as he jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis. "What about Janeway's first encounter with them, back on Stardate 50984.3? She found them waging a war for survival against a superior foe, saw evidence that the Borg were heading for an overwhelming and devastating defeat. And what did she do?" He glared at the people sitting near him. "She formed an alliance with them! Actually formed an alliance with the Borg!"

"In that situation, what would you have had her do?" asked Teller curiously.

"If she had to pick sides--and this is a pretty big if--she should have aided species 8472 against the Borg!" Blanc snapped.

"'The enemy of my enemy..." murmured Gelb, his gill slits twitching. "B-b-but what of the fact that species 8472 themselves posed a major threat against _Voyager_?"

Blanc gave him an incredulous stare. "Not as much of one as the Borg!"

"Tell that to _Voyager_'s Ensign Kim," mumbled Ross, though not as quietly as he obviously thought. Blanc cast a nasty look in his direction.

"Species 8472 was an unknown quantity," objected Necheyev. "At the very least, _Voyager_ should have stayed out of the fight altogether instead of picking sides. A very likely outcome is that the war would have severely weakened both sides."

"Or else the victor could have emerged stronger than either," reminded Ross. "But that's all a moot point. We know what Janeway _did_ do, and she was obviously correct, as later events proved."

Blanc said, "You can gloss over Janeway's decision, try to present it in the best possible terms, but one fact still remains. What about the Starfleet directive to strike a blow against the Borg whenever possible? It's been on the books since the battle of Wolf 359." His lip trembled slightly at the last phrase. "Is that directive to be so easily disregarded?"

"I agree," Necheyev said quietly. "Without going into great detail, I will merely point out that I once had occasion to reprimand another captain who disregarded this directive, who had had the opportunity to implant a fatal algorithmic function into a lone Borg who had fallen into his hands, and by returning him to the Collective, would have assured its spread throughout their entire hive." She pursed her lips in distaste. "Perhaps the Borg would have developed a countermeasure and simply cut off the diseased parts, so to speak, but the chances are it would have also struck them a staggering blow. The point is, now we'll never know. That very same captain I spoke of came to regret his actions later on, incidentally. He, too, became convinced of the necessity to destroy the Borg before they would have the chance to destroy us." She paused. "As they so nearly did just a few short years ago. Fortunately, due to that selfsame Captain Picard, we were spared another fiasco."

Hayes flushed deep red; he had been the Commander of the Starfleet forces on the occasion that Necheyev spoke of.

"Ah, then there is precedent regarding dealings with the B-b-borg, where success is its own antidote," Gelb said, cocking his head in Blanc's direction.

"Without Janeway's meddling in the first place, she wouldn't have been in the position of having to get further involved in the affairs of the Collective!" Blanc charged. "How many millions of more victims did she create?"

"She also managed to save many of the Borg's victims, those who had already been assimilated," answered Teller flatly. "Instead of just trying to kill drones, Janeway was committed to saving them, giving them back their lives."

"I don't give a rat's ass about saving drones!" thundered Blanc, losing control at last. "The only good drone is a dead drone!"

Hayes laid a hand on Blanc's arm. "Norman, think of your son. What if he had been recovered after the battle of Wolf? What if we had been able to reverse the assimilation process?"

Blanc's face was a picture of fury, his scar twitching as though it were alive. "My son is dead. He was killed fighting against those monsters. As were 11,000 other Starfleet officers, and forty ships of the line. Attempting to 'rescue' drones--at best it's pointless, at the worst it's an invitation to more slaughter and destruction!"

"You can say that, even after _Voyager_'s experience with former Borg?" said Ross incredulously.

"You think it was a good thing to have 'recovered' drones running around _Voyager_?" demanded Blanc. He lifted his PADD and slammed it down on the table. "Are you going to say there was never a time when any of them presented a danger to the ship? Never tried to contact the Collective, never tried to assimilate any of the crew?"

"You're talking about a limited number of instances, all of them dealing with the Borg known as Annika Hansen. And she's no longer on _Voyager_\--left them to go and rejoin a Borg colony, I believe," Cobum said. 

But Blanc was not listening. "Not only does Janeway bring drones on board her ship, but she goes and gets herself and two of her top officers assimilated! Deliberately!" He looked at them wildly, as though he could not comprehend their sheer folly in not understanding the magnitude of this crime. "Didn't we lose enough good people to assimilation already?" His voice broke on what could have been a sob. Blanc buried his head in his arms.

There was an awkward silence.

"Maybe we should take a break, resume another time," Hayes said worriedly.

Blanc lifted his head and fastened his bloodshot eyes on the Commander in Chief. "No," he said in a tight voice. "Let's finish it."

Ross exchanged glances with Gelb. "For all its 'tainted' origin, some of the Borg technology has proven to be pretty damn useful."

"Altogether, _Voyager_ is a treasure house of many amazing new technologies," agreed Gelb. "I know several departments who can't wait to get their hands on those advancements. They estimate it could take years just to properly assimilate all this new knowledge."

No one chose to comment on his poor choice of words. 

"Some of the tech _Voyager_ is carrying, like the Zorro, or whatever you call 'em, cloak is illegal under Federation law," Cobum remarked.

"Oh, there are ways of getting around the problem," Ross said confidently. "This isn't unlike the situation where the _Defiant_ was equipped with a Romulan cloak during the war, for exclusive use in the Gamma Quadrant." 

"Added to the fact that this _Zornon_ cloak is being deployed in the Delta Quadrant," put in Necheyev unexpectedly. "The Treaty of Algeron prohibits Federation use of a cloak in the Alpha or Beta Quadrants explicitly. It says nothing about the other quadrants." 

"More technicalities," Cobum sniffed.

"No, just a different viewpoint," said Gelb. "Not unlike many of Janeway's command decisions, which are b-b-based upon the ability to think outside of the b-b-box when necessary. Sometimes it takes an 'unconventional' captain to b-b-e able to recognize and adapt to changing situations and circumstances."

Blanc had been quiet for several minutes; he had recovered some of his composure. His voice was low, but his words had not lost any of their vehemence. "This is the way to anarchy. You call it unconventional--I call it dangerous. The regulations exist for a reason. We simply cannot have an individual captain taking matters into her own hands, selectively deciding which rules she'll obey and which not." He paused, his jaw working. "Wasn't that Ransom's excuse after all?"

Hayes half rose from his seat. "There's a difference between Janeway's actions and what Ransom did."

"One was a murderer, the other made a pact with murderers," Blanc shot back. "It's just a difference of degree."

Teller leaned forward. "You seem determined to treat her as a sinner. Which I'm not sure she is. At any rate, due to the circumstances Janeway found herself in, she was more sinned against than sinning."

Blanc's lips tightened. "But neither is she a saint, as you seem to think."

"Perhaps she's not ready to be canonized just yet," Teller said quietly. "But why do you insist on turning her into a martyr? Because mark my words, that's exactly what's going to happen if you persist in this campaign to vilify her."

"I agree," Necheyev said grudgingly. "Whatever we decide, it has to be based on reason, not on rampant emotionalism." She picked up her PADD. "When the ship gets home, that is." She gave an ironic smile. "It's quite possible that all this argument, all these meetings we're having, will ultimately be for nothing. It may be a very long time till _Voyager_ gets back."

"But the slipstream--" began Ross.

"Who knows how the slipstream will work?" countered Necheyev. "Or what state it will leave the ship in?" She repeated, "All of these deliberations could be for nothing."

Hayes shook his head. "Knowing Janeway, she'll bring that ship and crew back as fast as she can, and in as close to perfect condition as possible." He paused and then added, "Bet she'll even have the damned carpets cleaned first."

***

Anne felt as if her head was going to explode. She had returned home the week before from five insanely busy days in San Francisco and had scarcely stopped to breathe since. She was still frustrated that there was so much she simply hadn't had time for, so much that still needed doing now. But she _had_ gotten a lot done, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. In addition to several interviews with as many Starfleet officials as had been willing to speak with her, she and Kaylyn had discussed Admiral Paris' proposal at length and had spent most of their free time mapping out a plan of action. Mitch Dalby had joined them for part of that time, and the three of them had considered how to best shape their organization into an effective lobbying force. Keeping in mind what Paris had said about enlisting the media to their cause, they had even hired a public relations adviser. 

The news had spread rapidly among the 'network', and all of the families were eager to help. It hadn't taken long to discover that Alan McGuiness (Trish Gallagher’s uncle) had a friend whose cousin worked at the office of the Federation President in Paris. More importantly, he'd been able to schedule a meeting between President M'Renn and the newly elected officers of the Voyager Family Association.

It seemed as though she had scarcely unpacked her things, said hello to her own family, and now she had to prepare for another trip.

She was carrying a freshly folded pile of underwear from the refresher unit, along with several blouses, when she nearly collided with her oldest son coming around the corner.

"Goodness, JJ, you startled me!" she said.

"Sorry, Mum."

She placed the topmost layers of her load into his arms. "Here. Most of this is yours."

He lifted up a pair of shorts, his face wrinkled in distaste. "This belongs to Patrick, not me. It's way too small to be mine."

"Then be so good as to put in his wardrobe for him," Anne said, heading toward the stairs. She called over her shoulder, "And it would be nice if you could pick up and put away the rest of the laundry for me. I'm really pressed for time."

He trailed after her into her bedroom and stood watching as she started placing items in the open suitcase on the bed.

"You're leaving again?" he asked.

She didn't pause in her task of packing. "We talked about this, remember, dear? We're meeting with the President. Can you imagine that! The President of the Federation." She looked up and saw his brows draw together in a frown. "This is only going to be a short trip, just overnight, or two days at the most. Not at all like San Francisco."

"But you're leaving again! How can you just take off and leave us like this?" His tone was accusing.

His reaction puzzled her. "Yes, I'm going away, but I will be back soon, and you will _not_ be alone. Nana will be here--" 

He drew himself up to his full height. At nearly fifteen years of age he was already more than a head taller than she was and showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. "I'm not a baby, Mum, who needs someone to stay with me," he said angrily with a toss of his head.

"Then what do you mean?" She shook her head, then stopped and looked at him more closely. He resembled his father more and more with each passing day, it seemed, she thought idly in the corner of her mind. "JJ, I'm not a telepath. You're obviously upset, and I'd really appreciate it if you would tell me why instead of just standing there glowering at me."

It was quiet for a long moment, as he clearly debated what he wanted to say. Then, "You're never around anymore!" he burst out.

"That's not fair," she said heatedly, beginning to feel angry in turn. "I have made every effort to be here for you--I haven't missed a single soccer match, made sure I was back from San Francisco in time to meet with your teachers at--"

"That's not what I meant," he interrupted. "It's just...I don't know." He bowed his head and turned away slightly. She moved over to him and gently lifted his chin till his eyes met hers. 

"You mean I'm not around when you want me to be, to have someone to talk to," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess." In his eyes she saw the little boy once more, bewildered by his father's absence, not understanding why Daddy wasn't coming home and why Mummy sat anxiously watching the newsvids, jumping every time the comm sounded. Her heart clenched inside her. She couldn't fault JJ; he was feeling Joe's absence even more now that he was getting older. She had tried to make it up to both boys, be both mother _and_ mother, tried to make them never feel they were shortchanged by having only one parent. She had set herself an impossible task. And now it seemed she wasn't even filling her own role properly.

She passed her hand tiredly over her face. "I know you don't entirely understand, but I'm doing this for you, JJ, and for Patrick, and for all the other families. Someone has to stand up and make sure our voices are heard." She reached out and stroked his cheek, surprised to feel the faint down of hair beneath her fingertips. "I didn't ask for this job, but somehow, it fell to me. Just like no one asked your father or any of the other brave men and women on _Voyager_ if they wanted to be flung across the galaxy, separated from everyone and everything by a distance so vast it would ordinarily take nearly a lifetime to cross. Life is full of trials and difficulties, of all kinds." She closed her eyes tightly, forcing back the tears. "What matters is how we face our trials, how we bear the burdens that God has chosen to give us."

"Father Ryan says that God doesn't give us a test that's more than we can bear," JJ said thoughtfully.

"I certainly hope so, darling, but I have to confess, sometimes I wonder about that." She forced a smile. "But instead of focusing on the difficulty, what's more important is how we greet our trials, if we face them bravely and cheerfully, or with great reluctance and complaining. Though it's very hard, I'm trying to do my best." Her gaze locked with his. "My best for all of us."


	5. Act 4

The main section at the Pathfinder complex was bustling with activity, as usual. Various personnel were stationed at instrument consoles on both the upper and lower levels, rapidly feeding in data and performing correlations and probability analyses. One entire bank of computers was dedicated solely to the link-up of the MIDAS array, and two-way communication and manipulation. On the chamber's upper level, a large 3-dimensional holographic display of the Delta Quadrant was visible, with _Voyager_'s course glowing in red. Over the past seven years, it resembled nothing so much as a giant earthworm with a case of severe indigestion, Paris thought. Numerous twists and turns and doubling back on itself, coupled with 'shortcuts' and an occasional jump of several thousand light years--yet the general direction always remained the same, toward the Alpha Quadrant. If all went well with the slipstream, another dozen or so jumps and then _Voyager_'s journey would be at an end.

Paris stood still for a few moments, simply enjoying the air of hustle and expectation. When he was here, at the heart of Pathfinder, he was imbued with a sense of purpose, reminded again of just what they were trying to accomplish--and it didn't seem unattainable. 

He turned sharply when he heard his name called. "Admiral Paris!" said Commander Craig, hurrying up behind him. "Do you have a few moments?"

"Of course," Paris replied. He waited for the Starfleet Press Liaison to catch up to him. "As a matter of fact, there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Craig."

"Certainly, sir." If Craig was a little put-out over having to wait to bring up his own issues, he gave no indication. Paris studied the slender blond man standing before him, the pale heavy-lidded eyes which gave away no secrets, the smoothly expressionless face. Oh yes, Craig was very good at what he did.

"I was checking through the newsvids over the past month," Paris said by way of preamble.

Craig looked concerned. "Is there a problem with the _Voyager_ coverage?" 

"I find it curious that there's been no mention whatsoever of the new slipstream drive," Paris said.

Craig's face changed subtly. "The drive, for all its potential, is still in the experimental stage. Therefore, an executive decision was made--"

"According to the tracking at Pathfinder, it appears to be working just fine," Paris cut in. "Our latest scans show a displacement of _Voyager_'s position by several hundred light years. We won't know for sure the precise gain until the next datastream transmission in a few days, but there's no question that the slipstream works."

"Be it as it may," Craig hemmed, "prudence and caution dictate that we should wait for confirmation of that success before we make any public announcement." 

Paris' eyes narrowed. "There's caution and then there's censorship," he said bluntly. "From where I'm sitting, it's hard to tell just what it is you've got in mind." 

"Admiral Paris, surely not!" protested Craig. "Of course this is not an attempt at censorship, nor am I advocating withholding of information--without due cause. There's the security issue, first of all. But even more importantly, we have to think of the families--why get their hopes up on a mere possibility?"

Paris snorted. "Your intention here is to protect the families? Believe me, Craig, you'd be surprised at just how much they know." 

A small group of people were gathered around one of the wall video monitors. Craig looked up sharply and blanched.

"...live report of the meeting between representatives of the Voyager Family Association with Federation President M'Renn, just a few minutes ago. The head of the VFA, Anne Carey, wife of _Voyager_ engineer Lieutenant Joseph Carey, announced that _Voyager_ has developed a new faster-than-warp drive, utilizing principles of slipstream, and is expected to be home within the year if all goes well. As expected, this news has been greeted by a major flurry of excitement, with many people wondering why this is only now coming to the public's attention--"

"If you'll excuse me, Admiral," Craig said quickly. He didn't wait for an answer before rushing in the direction of his office, already talking rapidly into his comm badge. It was damage control time, and Craig was undoubtedly already trying to see how he could spin this latest development to Starfleet's advantage.

Paris smiled humorlessly. He resumed his walk to his own office, nodding to those who had turned away from the video monitor and gone back to work.

Lieutenant Barclay and Commander Harkins were standing in the center of the room in mid-discussion, oblivious to anything else going on around them, or to the fact that they were blocking their project leader's path. Paris gave up and simply stepped around them, overhearing a snatch of their conversation.

"...it's the phase variance which has been the problem all along," Harkins was saying. "If we could solve that, then the basic instability--"

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Barclay interrupted. His hair looked distinctly rumpled, as if he had just been tearing at it in an excess of nerves or creative energy. "Yes, in previous attempts the variance kept rising, causing the quantum matrix to overload. And all attempts since to keep the variance stable, by compensating for the spatial gradients, or otherwise keeping the deflector geometry stable were failures."

"As I said," began Harkins with just a hint of exasperation.

"But what if we approached the problem from the other direction--the quantum matrix itself?" Barclay paused, almost quivering with anticipation.

"Yes!" said Harkins excitedly, and then his face fell. "No, that won't work--then you're back at square one in terms of the slipstream kinetics. Not to mention the hyperdimensional progressions."

"Not necessarily," argued Barclay. "A thought occurred to me last night when I was discussing the possibility of developing real-time communication with Admiral Chapman over at the Starfleet Corps of Engineers..." 

Paris shook his head as the conversation proceeded to go off in an entirely different direction. He glanced once more at Barclay, who was now waving his arms and gesturing wildly, and at Harkins who had apparently given up on the 'reasonable' approach and was trying by dint of shouting to get a word in edgewise. A more unlikely set of engineers had probably never been assembled for a project of this magnitude, and yet the facts were that without Barclay and company, Pathfinder might never have gotten off the ground. 

Paris sat down at his desk and quickly looked through his messages, his mind still on the scene he'd just witnessed. Why was it, he mused, that genius and eccentricity always seemed to go together? But he was grateful for it in whatever package it came wrapped in, as it had given him and the other _Voyager_ families the possibility of hope.


	6. Act 5

_"In the event of any perceived irregularities during administrative review following a space mission, a Review Board will be convened. Three admirals will sit on this Board, and are empowered to call upon any experts they choose. At the end of their review, they may do one of three things: (1) determine the matter ended (2) refer the matter to a formal Board of Inquiry if they suspect a breach of regulations that do not give rise to criminal actions (3) refer the directly to Court Martial if criminal actions are suspected."   
Manual of Operating Procedure, Starfleet Command, Section 23-alpha, Paragraph 14_

"So that's it then," Gelb said quietly. He picked at his plate of sushi, then thrust his torso forward and angled his head slightly to catch Teller's gaze. The two of them were alone in the Admiralty's private dining room. "It's useless to speculate--nothing official will happen until the Review B-b-board, and _that_ won't take place until after _Voyager_ has returned."

"I'm well aware of that." Teller stirred her coffee, but did not drink it. "Based on what I saw in that meeting room, the attitudes of some of the others...I have more than a few misgivings about how it's ultimately going to turn out." 

Gelb placed his webbed hand very near, but not quite touching, Teller's gnarled fingers. "There was a g-g-great deal of sound and fury, but in reality little of substance. Hayes will follow Starfleet procedure and regulations--he can't very well do anything else."

"I'm aware of that as well." 

Gelb hesitated. "You are still troubled."

"An astute observation." She pushed her cup aside and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Starfleet has changed, Gelb, and I don't just mean since the old days."

The corners of his mouth turned up. " 'As sure as fry g-g-grow into fingerlings, and fingerlings b-b-begin to spawn...' Time marches on, my friend, and change is inevitable. That which doesn't change stagnates and dies."

Teller snorted softly. "Of course things change--especially over the span of a long career like mine. Or yours, for that matter. But some things _shouldn't_ change. A captain's first responsibility is to his ship and crew. That's as true now as it was one hundred years ago. Even the hard-liners can't fault Janeway for her actions in that respect."

"No, they can't," Gelb said. "Although they can and do deplore her more 'unconventional' methods." 

Silence fell as Teller returned to what was left of her lunch. Gelb simply waited.

"During the last decade, Starfleet Command has undergone a number of changes, not all of them welcome," she said at last. "We've always said that Starfleet is not a military organization, but the truth is that the 'kinder, gentler' image of the past is rapidly being supplanted. Perhaps this is inevitable, considering some of the threats we've faced recently." Her voice took on an edge. "During the war, many questionable activities were heartily endorsed by some of those very same admirals, actions that make Janeway's alleged violations of Starfleet regs pale in comparison. So don't talk to me about 'unconventional' methods."

"I prefer the term 'innovative' myself," Gelb said with a small gurgle. He quickly sobered. "There's a certain quality that enables a field commander to assess a situation, weigh the available options, and if the odds still aren't satisfactory, change them till they are. Call it b-b-brilliance, sheer nerve--not many of our current crop of captains have this ability."

"In the old days, Starfleet welcomed captains of her caliber, valued the mavericks above the strictly by-the-book types," Teller said sharply, then sighed. "If it weren't for captains like Janeway, where would the Federation, let alone Starfleet, be today?" 

***   
May 15  
_Just a quick postscript, Joe, before I send off this letter. The meeting between the representatives of the VFA--Kaylyn, Mitch and myself, along with T'Pel who came in unexpectedly from Vulcan--and the President went off very well. We weren't sure until the last moment if M'Renn herself was actually going to meet with us or if she'd foist us off on some underling--though I well remember your comments about it being a rare politician who can resist the chance for a photo-op! _

_M'Renn was most cordial. I've never met a Caitian before--actually, I don't think I've met any member of a felinoid species till now. I'm pretty sure that was true for Kaylyn and Mitch as well. You should have seen the lot of us--there we were, posed on the steps of the Presidential Palace, with Mitch trying very hard not to trip over or step on the Presidential tail which kept darting from side to side! I would have laughed at his discomfort, if I wasn't worried about doing the same thing myself. _

_The 'balance' for the holophoto couldn't have been any better if we'd consciously planned it in advance--one 'Fleeter, one Maquis, one Equinox and one non-Human. But just like Voyager itself has grown beyond these initial divisions, moved past these factions to form one unit, one 'family', so too have the relatives bonded. Once again, our common need has drawn us all together._

_The President was most interested to hear about the slipstream drive and what it means in terms of the ship getting home. She offered reassurances that the people of the Federation stand behind us and support us 100 percent through our 'arduous ordeal' and said how proud she is of the brave men and women on Voyager. _

_And now I really do have to end this letter and send it off, or it'll never make it into this month's datastream. The boys and I miss you so much, Joe. We can't wait to have you home with us again. _

_Love,  
Annie_


	7. Epilogue

Stardate 55370.4 (May 16) 

Paris nodded curtly to the aide in the outer room and strode into Hayes' office. The Commander in Chief was in the midst of a comm conversation. He looked at Paris for a long moment, then waved him into a chair in front of the desk.

"Yes, Madame President. I understand. Of course, it was never our intention to conceal---" Hayes fell silent. Finally, he said, "Yes, I will personally see to it." He cut the connection and closed his eyes.

Paris waited. He looked around Hayes' office; he had rarely been here. Hayes preferred to conduct his meetings in other settings, for the most part. Despite its larger size, the office was really no different from the rooms occupied by other Starfleet bureaucrats, regardless of rank. It was oddly austere. There were only a few personal touches, primarily paintings. Strictly modern, and by mostly non-Human artists. The one incongruous note was a large old-fashioned grandfather clock in the corner. Even as Paris' glance fell upon it, it chimed the hour.

Hayes at last opened his eyes; he did not look pleased to see the other man. "Yes, Owen, what can I do for you?"

Paris leaned forward, a data PADD in his hand. "The latest datastream communiqué from _Voyager_."

Hayes made no move to take it. "Any more 'bombshells' in store this time?" He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Nothing to compare to last month's," Paris said calmly, placing the PADD in front of Hayes. "Their first attempt at the slipstream was a success, resulting in their traveling 838 light years. In just a matter of minutes. The next attempt, after a refractory period of several weeks, should be more of the same. However..." his voice trailed off, as he watched Hayes' reaction. All vestiges of a smile had now vanished. "There's something here that I think you should see right away."

"Problem?"

"No, I wouldn't exactly call it that."

Hayes was clearly losing patience. "All right, Owen, why don't you just spit it out?"

"It's a message from Janeway." Paris leaned over and activated the PADD, calling up the particular passage he had marked earlier. "Addressed to you personally. After the usual pleasantries, she says, and I quote--"

"Never mind the exact words--what does she want?"

Paris leaned forward once more, his gaze locked with that of the Commander in Chief. "She wants some answers, Jack, about what's going on. And I can't say that she's the only one."

Hayes' eyes darted toward the clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm, not stopping or faltering for a moment. "Tell her...tell her everything's fine." He met Paris' eyes once more. "And that we're looking forward to greeting them upon their arrival home. All of them."

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> Anne Carey and her children appear courtesy of Monkee.
> 
> Next up: _Voyager_ emerges from slipsteam to find themselves drawn into a civil war with potentially galactic ramifications.  
**Warning:** offstage violence and rape.


End file.
